


Sing Me a Song

by Havenlyfics



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Brothels, Eventual Smut, F/M, Flirting, Flirting through song, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Getting to Know Each Other, Inspired by The Witcher, Monster Hunters, Monsters, Reader-Insert, Sexual Tension, Sexual innuendos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:27:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22288636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Havenlyfics/pseuds/Havenlyfics
Summary: In the town of Parvuset there is a monster; and something far more alluring than coin.Geralt×Reader fic
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Original Female Character(s), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Reader
Comments: 7
Kudos: 105





	Sing Me a Song

**Author's Note:**

> This will likely be a 3-4 part series, I just had to have some fun with tasty tasty Geralt.

He just wanted a bed and an ale; in no particular order. 

It had been two long days and nights of pelting rain and frigid winds before Geralt finally came upon his destination - the scarcely there mountain town of Parvuset. Most every home was built into the rock itself, and those homes held the tiny populace. It was, by definition, a hole in the wall, easily missed, but Parvuset was the last stop before the Elskerdeg Pass; and some unknown beast was blocking it. Every day, body parts were found a little closer to the town's borders, and everyone grew a little more nervous. 

And thusly, they'd sent for a Witcher; and Geralt was who they'd found. 

If he didn't know it was there, he might have missed the town altogether; the icy rain created a sheet that hid the candles and fires in citizen's homes, and muffled the scent of fearful humans and burning bread. There was no elected official for him to meet with, no magistrate or alderman or wizard. 

He'd been called up by the local Madame - which usually meant good coin. 

It also promised a brothel. 

In the entirety of Parvuset, it was the only place that looked alive; oak boards built up several floors against the slope of the mountain. Even with the weather, his keen nose could scent a stable and the reek of perfume from the whores within. He'd be warmed quick enough. Before entering, he tucked Roach into the first empty stall he could find, musty hay lined the floor. He'd be dry and fed; Geralt dared hope for a little more for himself. 

The lilt of music met him as he swung open the painted red door; the only sound that continued as the chattering of voices stopped. He was used to that - his presence, even when invited, tended to silence anyone. He cast his golden eye around the room; the painted women had little patrons, one or two locals. The bardress, seemingly disinterested, strummed on her lute in a corner. She languished across a table like a stage. The surly barman stilled the pouring of an ale as he took in the Witcher carefully. He hadn't expected a warm welcome; nor had he got one.

"Ah!" A voice came from a stair, pulling his attention. An older woman equipped with a red cane descended, apparently the only occupant pleased to see him. Her step was hobbled, but she came to him with confidence. "You're the Witcher, then?" 

"Mm," he nodded, and the room eased but slightly. The girl in the corner played along. "You sent for me?" 

"Madame Wernst," she introduced herself, presenting a hand for a kiss. He shook it stiffly. "Glad to see you've come in one piece. The rains've kept whatever scum's what's been killing at bay. Mustn't care for the weather." 

He already had some idea of what he was exterminating; but there was no killing for him to do that night. "Nor do I," he took in the room once more; a few of the girls now eyed him with intrigue, adventure. The bardress plucked her strings. "I need a room." 

"We've plenty of those," Wernst said grimly, hobbling her way to the bar. Geralt followed. "This beast has been killin' our business as much as our people. Regular night, this place would be filled." 

"Hm." He sidled up next to the old woman, and at her behest the barkeep presented him with a mug of ale. He was beginning to ease - only to hear the fresh ringing of a familiar song on the strings of that minstrel's instrument. Then came the words.

 _"But the story is this,"_ the young bardress' was warm, mirthful; full of more understanding than the man who'd penned the song. _"She'll destroy with her sweet kiss..."_

Geralt shifted uncomfortably; Yenn was still a sore spot. 

"Will you be wantin' company t'night, Witcher?" Wernst prompted, though he didn't takes his gaze from the girl's performance. "I'm sure my fine ladies would be glad to keep y'warm on a night like this." 

He'd seen the women Wernst was offering; they were by no means unbecoming, if a bit too preened. They would've been his usual fare at any other bawdy house, but his interest laid with the girl. The one who hadn't spared him as much as a glance, and yet was singing his song of heartbreak. 

"I'll find my own way." He downed his suds quickly, his rain-soaked sleeve wiping his mouth before he made his approach; he didn't heed the Madame's plea for him to wait, as he'd set his sights on her. 

Even as his step ceased at the foot of her table, she didn't reward him a look, and went playing on. She didn't stiffen, didn't flinch from what seemed to be a practiced melody; she intrigued him all the more. 

"You play well," he offered; and finally her eyes flicked up at him. Again, not an ounce of fear, just waiting expectantly. She looked at him like an opponent; and he met her challenge eagerly. "...though not my favorite song." 

She smirked then, her features pleasant when finally loose. "I wouldn't think so, seein' as its about you," her bright, knowing eyes went back to the strum of her strings. "Wolf of Rivia." 

His reputation preceded him; he never cared for that. He downright hated it when it spread through Jaskier's romantic nothings. He dug into the light coin purse at his belt, fishing out a gold piece. "Would a _ducat_ pay for another song?" 

Her talented hands ceased, to hold out her palm as he dropped in his payment. Pulled from her music, she sized him up properly. He was every bit the chiseled muscle and stony expression she'd heard of; but story-tellers had left out how warm those amber eyes were. 

"It would indeed," she tucked the coin into her own purse around her waist, settling the lute in her arms again. "What do you want to hear?" 

He took the hard chair at her table, content to watch her there as if a concert. "Whatever strikes you." 

She nodded solemnly, then took up another well-known tune. _"Toss a coin to your witche--"_

"--not that," he held his hand up in protest, wincing. She grinned and chuckled at her jape, and he decided he liked that laugh. "Please, not that." 

"Everyone's a critic," she joked. Her fingers began a new song, one unknown to even him. "I'll play you one of mine then." 

_"Gentle heart and gentle hands,_

_All that's wished by gentleman_

_Who want their wilting virgin,_

_That swoons before their feet._

_A wish mundane,_

_So dull, so plain,_

_From brains like shredded meat_

_Skilled hands and learned fingers_

_Spell a man who wouldn't stray_

_He'll ponder long to linger_

_Past the night when turns to day,"_

She sported a cheeky smile; Geralt was heating up below his leathers. 

_"A sweet pink tongue_

_May taste the same_

_In any girl's mouth,_

_But what makes a man_

_Praise or complain_

_Is shown when she goes South."_

They shared a smile; he'd made his decision for the night. 

_"Have your pick of painted lips_

_Of perfumed hair, of lies in bed_

_Or take your chance on song_

_And dream of me when you're long dead."_

He stood abruptly; her lack of subtlety had done him in. She allowed another coy smile, another tease. "What's your name, bardress?" 

"Y/N." 

"Y/N," he repeated, and his mouth grew hot. He reached into his purse again; surely three _ducats_ would suffice for a night of her company. "Would you spend the night with me?" 

She didn't lose her smile as she strummed a simple tune. "No." 

He blinked his yellow eyes; had he read her entirely wrong? "No?"

"Indeed, no," she glanced up at him once more, drinking in his deliciousness before returning her attentions to her lute. "I'm not one of the whores, here, Wolf; only a singer. Should you give me coin, you'll get nothing but sweet songs." 

He was stunned, but no less determined. His attraction was palpable, she must've felt it too. "And without coin? Would you join me?" 

She crinkled her nose and shook her head. "And still I say no," she wouldn't dare give herself another look at him; one more might have convinced her. "You'll have to work a little harder than that, should you want me as your bedwarmer."

His lips pursed and a vein twitched in his neck, but he accepted her challenge. He had a second goal in Parvuset. He settled back in his chair and laid down another coin. 

"Then I must think of something quite enticing then." 

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think! Love a kudos or comment :)


End file.
